My blogging name is "Every 7th Day." This is not a holy swagger.
When I was a very young minister (27) I went to a clergy cluster meeting and bemoaned how exhausted I was. The group was generally supportive but one comment always stuck with me.
I am very fortunate to have Rev. Gordon McKeeman as a colleague. He is a brilliant man and also quite funny. On the day in question, Gordon was probably in his early seventies. His little finger had more brilliance than my whole self then, or probably now. But Gordon is also gentle, kind-hearted, and understated.
Instead of giving me a tongue lashing or ignoring me, Gordon addressed my exhaustion in his quiet way: It's because every seventh day is Sunday.
He was right, of course. Not just about the days of the week, but about the brand of fatigue to which our ilk are prone. I often describe it to non-ministers as: Every person has one perfect sermon somehwere inside of them. Most of us have 6 or 7 great ones, too. It's the next 250-1000 that are the tricky ones.
Today is Sunday. I am wiped out. Services this AM were more complex than they sometimes are. We had a delightful and lively crowd at church and I tried to at least say hello to them all. My back hurts. My throat is sore. I'm out of words.
But my regular readers know that since the children were born - I'm always tired and sore. Always rushed. Always trying to find this balance between chaos and serenity. Always hoping to make sense out of the maelstrom. But every seventh day...